To those of you who don’t know me, I am a very… very organized and meticulous person. Whenever I sit down at a parent-teacher conference, they usually sound something like this:

ME: I swear to GOD,  if this teacher tells my dad I got ONE wrong on my bio test I will flip this table.

TEACHER: So, Victoria is doing very well in class – she does her homework, tests well, and asks questions in class!

ME: Obviously, I don’t just come to this dungeon for my own pleasure. *rolls eyes*

TEACHER: Why don’t we take a look at Victoria’s latest test!

ME: Here we go…

(DAD sees the mark it reads 24/25. DAD looks at me. DAD starts to grin.)

TEACHER: As you can see, Victoria has only gotten one question wrong, you must b-

DAD: (Turning towards me) Where’s the other 4% Victoria?! Your mother and I do not tolerate this behaviour!

(TEACHER is clearly uncomfortable and doesn’t know how to reply)

ME: (sitting there smiling and hoping that a meteor would hit this exact spot and disintegrate us all) Oh! Haha Dad! It was just some silly mistake.

ME: Flips the table and walks away, while the camera pans out and the school explodes behind  in a glorious inferno. Cool people don’t look back at explosions.

Anyways, you get the goddamn point. Dad is a goof. Victoria is an organized freak. We are a walking timebomb whenever we work together on something. Betsy was our biggest project. She’s my car.

Betsy is a 2002 Honda Civic – sorry, Betsy is a 2002 pile of junkyard parts that rarely starts and sounds like a dying child. Before I continue, I would just like to say – actually this isn’t even important- but, Betsy is now very clean and is the physical manifestation of my organized freak.

My Dad first saw Betsy rotting in my neighbour’s driveway. He was hit with a brilliant father-daughter “bonding project”. Here’s how this supposedly “brilliant” idea went:

DAD: Vic get your a** down here! You’re going to help me with something!

ME: Suddenly, I am hit with an intense desire to jump out the window. Oh well, maybe next time. *rolls eyes*

ME: Coming Dad!

DAD: Hurry!

ME: I SAID I’M COMING!

DAD: (insert some crap that shows the reader how disgusting and disorganized the garage is)

ME: (insert some snarky comments about how gross the garage is, said under breath, that DAD clearly hears)

DAD: (tries to diffuse tension with a cringy pun)

ME: I’m going inside, thanks Dad!

(entire process repeats over three weeks)

Let’s get back to the whole point of this stupid narrative – a personal story from my life. What’s the point, most of you probably won’t even read this far. However, you’ll feel obligated to leave me some nice and cheesy comment that makes you sound like you read the entire thing. Bastards.

I got my license on my sixteenth birthday and I know what you are thinking: OMG. That Victoria chick is SUCH  an overachiever: who gets their license on the day that they’re legally allowed? Well, like I said I am a very… very organized and meticulous person who honestly doesn’t give a crap about your opinion.

Betsy – who instead of rotting in the driveway, now just smells like she’s rotting – she is now a mess. There are Timmies cups on her floor, half-full water bottles littering the passenger floor, and old fast food bags in the overflowing “garbage bag,” which is actually just an old and moldy McDonald’s bag that I use to hold other old and moldy McDonald’s bags.

I should probably mention this, I have two walking penises as brothers. One of them plays hockey and also has a disgusting bag. I swear you could dump a bottle of febreeze on his bag and it would still smell like a decomposing skunk. Apparently, his bag was just as bad as Betsy but I didn’t see it.  Obviously, this was just so much fun for my parents that my goofball Dad turned not so goofball.

I remember the day exactly – I was sitting in my room (watching Netflix) when my Dad yelled at me to get downstairs, “Victoria [insert full name] get your a** down here!” In my family, when you get called by your full name you know you’re in some deep poop. So I pause my show (probably Grey’s Anatomy) and fight with myself about whether or not to pretend to be asleep, jump out the window, or go downstairs. It was only 12:00 pm and the desire to jump out the window usually comes back at 2:00 am, so I think i’ll save those for later.

I sit down at the table. My Dad sits down at the table. My Dad pulls out the little blue folder that reads “Allstate”. I gulp. My Dad stares me down as he pulls out the little slip of paper with all of Betsy’s details and rips it in half.

“Victoria, clean your goddamn car.”

ME: oh sh*t